


One Love

by Ella_Blue (alice_angel_fic)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gay Sex, M/M, Nagron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_angel_fic/pseuds/Ella_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the same moment that Agron was felled by a Roman sword, Nasir felt a pain in his chest so fierce that it dropped him to his knees. The man he loved was gone; he knew it even before news of Crixus’ defeat arrived at Spartacus’ rebel camp. So when the gods took mercy on him in his grief and delivered his lover back into his arms, he vowed to nurse Agron back to health, and never to leave his side again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nasir

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favourite scenes in the Spartacus series was the reunion between Agron and Nasir. I wish we had seen more of their storyline than just their tearful parting and their heart-warming reunion. I would have loved to see how Nasir coped with his grief, when he believed Agron was dead and how Agron dealt with realising that leaving Nasir might not have been the best decision he ever made. I’d also have loved to see what happened between them immediately after Agron returned. This story is how I imagined those scenes could have played out.
> 
> Also - a note regarding the dialogue - I first tried to write their words in modern language but somehow it didn’t sound or feel right, so I reverted back to the strange “Sparty-speak” (lol) that they used in the show for their dialogue, and modern language for the narrative bits. I hope it will make sense. :)  
>  Thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER ONE – NASIR.

 

Afterwards, Nasir would say he had known the exact moment Agron had been struck down by that Roman sword. The sun had been midway between its zenith and the horizon. He’d been sitting outside his tent, enjoying a rare moment of peace while he sharpened his spear. Out of nowhere a searing bolt of pain had seen him doubled over in agony. He’d slid to the ground, gasping for breath. They had found him there, his face ashen white, his eyes wild with dread, and one name falling from his lips over and over, “Agron… Agron…” Later, he would say it had felt as if, “Heart was wrenched from chest.” 

Until that moment he had clung to hope. For weeks, tales of Crixus’ victories had arrived on the lips of slaves fleeing from the south to join the rebels. Nasir questioned many of those streaming into the camp, but few had seen the slave army up close, most had fled as soon as their villages were attacked. But one boy claimed to have taken food and drink into Crixus’ camp and described the one they called the Undefeated Gaul in accurate detail. But he also spoke of a tall German with green eyes who had been in conversation with the rebel Gaul. Nasir pressed the boy for more information, but he had only seen them for a moment and remembered nothing about the German except that the man carried a sword and had large raised scar, high on his chest, near his shoulder. 

“He yet lives,” Nasir had breathed a sigh of relief and given the boy extra food before seeing him to a tent. 

Then one day another group of escaped slaves arrived, bringing with them the news that Crixus and his army had reached the gates of Rome itself. They told of the rebels camped outside the city walls and the Roman Legions that were massing to meet them. Among them was a girl, little more than a teenager. She made her way to where the new recruits were being trained. She stood in the crowd looking small and shy, a mere slip of a girl, her eyes glued to Nasir. 

Gannicus watched her for a while, wondering what she was up to. She seemed more interested in the Syrian himself than the lesson he was giving, but she followed the manoeuvres of his sword closely, her eyes taking in the complicated movements of his feet as he danced around his opponent. 

“I fear sword would be too heavy for little arm to wield,” Gannicus had chuckled as he stepped up beside her. 

“I have no wish for swords. My interest is in instructor,” she replied, nodding her head towards the Syrian. “I would speak with him.”

“As would many, but his heart is spoken for,” Gannicus laughed. He had lost count of the number of women who arrived at the camp and found their eyes drawn to the beautiful long-haired warrior, only to be disappointed when they found out his interests lay elsewhere. 

“I do not seek his favour, I carry message from Agron,” she told him.

Gannicus raised a surprised eyebrow, but nodded when she stared unflinchingly back at him. As soon as Nasir took a break and one of the others took over testing the new recruits, Gannicus took her by the arm and led her to where Nasir was drinking a cup of water. 

“This one seeks you,” he said with a grin, giving her a gentle push forward.

“You are Nasir?” she asked. 

The Syrian nodded, surprised that she knew his name.

“I carry words from Agron,” she told him. “When Rome falls to Crixus you are to enter city. He will await you there and would share embrace of happy reunion on steps of venerable Senate.” 

Nasir’s heart soared. Agron was still alive, this girl had seen him and spoken to him, she carried his very words. He felt like he was walking on clouds, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. Rome would fall, they would all be free. Spartacus could lead his followers over the mountains if he wanted to, but Nasir was turning towards Rome and the arms of the man he loved. He asked the girl when she had seen Agron and she told him it had been just over a week ago. His heart beat even faster, it might already be done, Crixus may already have taken Rome. All he needed to do now was wait until the news of glorious victory arrived on the lips of the next group of fleeing slaves. 

But none came. 

The next afternoon that terrible premonition had hit him. He felt like a part of his soul had died and it filled him with dread. So when the mysterious rider, draped in a Roman cloak, appeared over the horizon, Nasir already feared the worst. When he saw that it was Naevia who tumbled from the horse clutching Crixus’ head, Nasir felt his courage and hope fall with her. 

Standing outside Spartacus’ tent, he had listened to the voices inside as Naevia told her story. When his nerves couldn’t take it anymore, he’d walked in, the bravest expression he could muster on his face and asked after Agron’s fate. 

“What of Agron? Does he share fate with Crixus or is he yet of this world?” his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear her answer. 

But Naevia had no words to offer. Instead, her face crumpling to tears told him what she could not bring herself to say. With a small nod of his head, his jaw clenched and tears welling in his eyes, Nasir accepted the dreadful news that his heart already knew. As he walked from the tent he felt Gannicus’ and Spartacus’ eyes follow him, and with their gaze came their unspoken words of sympathy for his loss.

A small stumble as he left the tent, little more than a wobble, was the only outward sign he showed until he reached the sanctuary of his own shelter. Once there he fell to his knees and released a scream that split the heavens with his grief. Nasir was inconsolable.

Later that day, Castus had stood at the opening of Nasir’s tent, desperate to offer words of comfort and a secure embrace, but all his advances were rejected. In the end it was Laeta who comforted him. She braved the tempest of his grief and ignored his cries to be left alone. She grabbed his flailing fists and hugged him close to her chest, letting his tears spill and his body shudder with the agony of his loss. She held him tightly, rocking him in her arms like a child and stoking his hair. Her own tears for her departed husband joined his, and together they shared in their heartache. Nasir cried and raged all that day and long into the night, praying, pleading and begging the gods to return Agron from the afterlife. 

When at dawn, he finally fell into an exhausted sleep, his dreams were plagued by visions of his lover appearing out of the mist, only to vanish in a ghostly swirl of smoke when Nasir reached for him. Laeta lay down next to him, still holding him tightly and let herself fall into a dreamless sleep too. 

The days melted into each other, becoming a blur of pain and tears. Sometimes Nasir wept quietly, and sometimes his agonizing cries were loud. He swung between fury and despair, raging at Agron for leaving with Crixus and shaking his fists at the heavens. At night he collapsed onto their once-shared bed, hugging his knees to his chest and clutching Agron’s old cloak to his face. His tears soaked it as he tried to breathe in one last breath of his dead lover’s scent. 

But despite his desolation he was never alone. Laeta sat with him all night, Sibyl prayed with him, Castus watched over him, wishing he could do more for him and Spartacus, spoke gentle words of his own losses, offering what comfort he could. 

When Nasir had cried all the tears his body held and cursed the gods with all the words his mouth could form, he emerged once more from his tent. But he was a changed man, just a shadow of the once smiling, free-spirited person he had once been. The too-short life of love and happiness that he had known in Agron’s arms was gone, and all Nasir could do now was to honour Agron’s memory by living and fighting, and channelling all his wrath at the legions of Rome who had taken the man he loved from him. 

Still in despair, but with determination, Nasir picked up his sword and went to the training ground where he threw himself relentlessly into drilling the new recruits. If they were going to face the Roman armies they would be ready, he would not have Agron’s death be in vain. Training and teaching kept him busy and kept his mind focussed. When he wasn’t giving a lesson in fighting, he was to be found wandering around the camp lost in his own thoughts, sometimes with his eyes lifted to the heavens and sometimes with his gaze cast down to the muddy ground. Occasionally people would approach him, laying a hand on his shoulder and offering him words of sympathy. He acknowledged their kindness with a weak smile and a nod of his head, telling them that he was grateful of the care they sought to give. 

The only person Nasir would not accept comfort from was Castus. Every time the Cilician was near, Nasir would seethe with anger. He smacked the pirate’s hands away whenever they reached for him and returned his comforting words with hissed curses. Castus’ heart ached to see the beautiful Syrian suffering so much, but he also finally understood just how much Nasir had loved Agron, and still did. And to his surprise he discovered his own feelings of sadness at Agron’s loss too. 

From the moment Agron and Castus had met they had not seen eye to eye, and when Castus had begun his flirtatious pursuit of Nasir, the beautiful man who had caught his eye in Sinuessa, the tentative truce between the pirate and the rebel gladiator had been shattered forever. He’d never been lucky in love but when it became clear that the loveliest man he had ever seen already held the heart of the man who irked him the most, Castus thought the gods were truly pissing on him from above. But still it hadn’t stopped him. No matter how many punches he took from Agron, the slightest glance or hint of a smile from Nasir would enflame his passions anew. And now that the impossibly pretty warrior was suffering so much despair, all Castus wanted to do was hold him and try to take away his pain. But Nasir would have none of it. He shouted, he blamed, he lashed out, and Castus fought back the only way he knew how - by trying harder to gain his heart. 

“He needs not vain attempts to fondle,” Laeta told him one day when he was nursing another bloodied lip gained from Nasir’s fist. “He stands in need of a friend. Step back, offer comfort from respectful distance, and see kindness better received than lust.” 

Castus had followed her advice and slowly Nasir had become calmer. Rejection of food and firewood soon gave way to allowing Castus to build a fire and to cook for him, but Nasir still refused to eat. Castus placed a bowl in his hands but he just stared at it. Sibyl sat with him and entreated him to eat, telling him he needed his strength to continue honouring Agron’s memory. She told him that Agron would be displeased to look down from the heavens and see him attempting to starve himself. But even Spartacus’ wise words and advice could not get the grieving man to lift the spoon to his lips. When those who cared for him began to despair for his wellbeing, they decided to try force where coaxing and cajoling had failed. Gannicus was sent to battle with him. He sat at Nasir’s side, concerned by the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. He had become so thin that his clothes hung from his already small frame. Gentle persuasion was not working, so Gannicus slipped his finger under Nasir’s chin the way he had seen Agron do so many times, and lifted his head until their eyes met. 

“That food, or my sword. Your choice which one enters your mouth,” the blond Celt’s voice was soft but insistent. 

Nasir twisted his head away defiantly but found Gannicus’ finger replaced by the sharp tip of his sword. As the cold metal pressed against his throat, Nasir knew the gladiator who once stood as God of the Arena, was crazy enough to make good his threat, so he allowed Castus to put a bowl of food in his hands and he lifted the spoon to his mouth. It tasted of nothing, all the pleasures he’d had in life had died with Agron - food, wine, gentle caresses and loving kisses were all gone. He ate the food, his chest rising and falling in anger, his eyes glaring at Gannicus. All the while, the tip of the champion gladiator’s sword hovering an inch from his neck. 

“Drink,” Gannicus said, nodding at the cup of wine Sibyl held out to him. 

Nasir drank it down without a word of protest. Only then did the blond Celt slide his sword back into its sheath. 

“Apologies brother, my hands bend to another’s will,” Gannicus said as he turned to leave. 

Nasir wondered what he meant, but as soon as he started to feel unsteady and drowsy he realized that a sleeping draft had been slipped into his drink. A small part of him was furious, but in his heart he knew these people, who he now considered to be his family, were only doing their best to help him. His drugged sleep was mercifully dreamless and when Nasir woke up halfway through the following afternoon, he felt more alive than he had since Agron had left. He promised himself, and the memory of the man he loved, that he would try harder to eat and get rest from then on. 

When his heart felt strong enough, Nasir went to see Naevia. She was still broken by her grief. Their words to each other were halting and filled with tears. Nasir held her hands and they cried together. But Naevia was still treading the path of anger through her grief. Nasir had already travelled through that dark valley and emerged from the other side of it feeling numb and hollow. 

“You stand blessed to be absent knowledge of Agron’s terrible last moments,” she hissed at Nasir through clenched teeth. “Would that I could close my eyes and not see Crixus head depart his shoulders.” 

Her words hurt Nasir. They were said as if he was lucky not to know the details of his lover’s death, as if he suffered less than she did for having seen Crixus come to his end.

“Would that I knew of it as you do,” Nasir replied softly. “I would give own life to have stood at Agron’s side as he fell, for my face to be last he saw, for my eyes to carry love of my heart to him at moment he went to the afterlife,” Nasir tried to blink away his tears and struggled to supress the sobs that were rising in his chest. “Agron’s broken body lies on field of battle, absent even honourable funeral. Would that I had been at his side to see him depart from this world in my arms not alone and far from my heart.” 

Naevia pulled away from him and hugged her arms around herself, disappearing back into the desolate depths of her mind, losing herself to her loneliness and misery. She stayed that way for a long time, the only thing that pulled her from her depression were the funeral games that Spartacus announced. 

On the day of the games, Nasir joined the others as they prepared to fight and honour the memory of their fallen. He dressed as he would for battle, and stood quietly off to the side away from the others, his thoughts turned inwardly to his memories of Agron. He stared into the burning coals of the brazier and saw Agron’s spirit in the sparks that flew up from it. He saw his smiling face, and heard the gentle sound of his voice. He saw the first time they broke words and the first kiss they shared. His mind was filled with the battles they fought and the peaks of love they achieved afterwards. Always in the days after a great battle, Agron would become insatiable, pulling Nasir to their bed every chance he could. They were never so passionate and lustful as when glowing in the glory of victory. And in the quiet times when they travelled with the army or settled in the city they had taken, their love was slower and gentler. Nasir loved both sides of Agron, the battle-inflamed warrior who took him roughly, pounding his cock into his body and biting at his skin, and the gentle, affectionate lover who whispered soft words as his hands travelled slowly over Nasir’s skin, his fingertips eliciting quiet gasps of pleasure and his lips pressing tender kisses to Nasir’s sensitive neck. All of this he saw in the glowing shower of sparks from the fire while he waited to walk with the others into their makeshift arena, to show their Roman prisoners that while you can break a slave’s body, you can never break his spirit, or his will to live and die a free man. 

When it was Nasir’s turn to enter the arena, he felt like a giant. All the hurt, pain and anguish he had suffered became his power. He felt strong, invincible even. He wished the one Roman that faced him was a thousand men so he could slay them all and honour the man he loved with their blood. 

After a good fight, the Roman lay dead, his throat slit by Nasir’s spear. 

“For you my heart,” Nasir whispered to the heavens as he stood over the Roman soldier’s corpse. “His blood spilled by my spear in your honour.” 

Adrenalin coursed through his body, making his heart pound and his blood rush through his veins. He always felt like this after battle, and so did Agron, it heightened everything from their senses to their passion. Nasir had lost count of the times they had gone straight from the battlefield to their bed. Blood and victory filled Agron with a lust that nothing but Nasir’s body could satisfy. The only way he knew how to come down from the intoxicating high of combat was in Nasir’s arms. Now Nasir had to face that descent on his own. It was the first time he had fought and killed a Roman since Agron had gone, and the first time that he wouldn’t lie intimately joined with him, soaring to the heights of climax together, hearing Agron’s voice telling him how proud he was. The thought twisted his heart and brought the sting of tears to his eyes, but underneath the heartache he realized that he had found a sense of peace and acceptance that would stay with him always. He hoped that once Naevia had dispatched Tiberius, the miserable son of that Roman shit Crassus, to his doom, she too would feel the way he did. He longed to help Naevia as she had helped him so many times the past, but he knew that only the passing of time, the spilling Roman blood, and the gods’ mercy were of any use to her now. 

So when Spartacus stayed her hand just at the moment she was about to take her revenge and see Crixus’ death avenged, Nasir was both shocked and angry. When he heard the offer that had been made - for five hundred of their own to be exchanged for the one wretched life of Crassus’ son, Nasir silently willed her to send a loud, clear message in the form of her sword cleaving the boy’s pathetic head from his equally worthless body. 

When she let her sword fall away from Tiberius’ neck, Nasir’s mouth dropped open in surprise and he felt the bile of disgust rise in his throat. He ran to her afterwards and shoved her roughly. “They have taken all from you!” he yelled. “You would let them have this too? That boy’s head is yours, why return him to detestable father’s arms?”

Naevia turned to him, her eyes glistening with tears. “And what if we stood in gathered crowd?” she said pointing her sword at the hordes of people sitting on the stepped cliff of the area. “What if our loved ones stood among the five hundred to be returned? Would you still bleat for the boy’s blood then?” 

“But they do not stand among them,” Nasir replied. “Agron and Crixus are gone, taken by Roman swords, and I would have that little shit’s head cleaved by yours.”

“We have lost everything Nasir, I would not be cause of others suffering what we do. Let Crassus have the filth of his loins back, I will meet boy on battlefield again and finish what I have begun today,” Naevia said as she walked slowly away. 

Nasir lifted his eyes to the multitudes sitting on the cliff overlooking the arena. Almost every one of them held to heart a man or woman that they loved and would do anything to see again. Naevia had nothing, she had lost the only thing she cared about. All she had left in this world was taking revenge on the snivelling boy who had taken Crixus’ life. Yet she had decided not to do it so that others might have the chance to have their loved ones returned to them. In that moment Nasir realised how selfless Naevia had been in giving up her chance of revenge, and just how much her sacrifice would mean to everybody who would get hold their loved ones again. His heart broke that Agron would not be among them. 

 

To be continued….


	2. Agron

CHAPTER TWO – AGRON

 

Agron closed his eyes and tried to embrace the pain as Doctore had taught him, but this excruciating agony would not be embraced. He opened his mouth and screamed. And then came the tears, spilling uncontrollably down his cheeks. This was not the death he had wanted, the death he believed he had earned. He wanted to go down in battle, fighting to the last. He wanted a glorious death. But this was not a glorious end, it was agonizing and humiliating. Hanging from a cross, his arms tied to it, nails driven through the palms of his hands, Agron knew it would not be a quick death either. He might last for hours, or even days. 

“Break words and end torture,” Caesar called from the foot of the cross, but Agron only glared down at him, hissing through gritted teeth. 

“Eat cock you fucking Roman shit.” 

If his mouth hadn’t been so dry he would have spat at the blond bastard who had gleefully hammered the nails into him, gloating that Agron would never hold a sword again.

They may have had him crucified, bloodied and beaten, but they did not have him defeated. He still had the upper hand, he had the one thing they wanted - he knew where Spartacus and the rest of his army were. It was this piece of information that Marcus Crassus wanted the most, and it was the one piece of information that Agron would give his life to protect, because protecting that secret meant protecting Nasir, and saving the lives of countless thousands who were attempting reach the safety beyond the mountains. He had given up everything, including Nasir himself, to give those people the chance of a life free from Roman shackles. And he would not betray them now.

For weeks he had regretted leaving Nasir behind, but now he thanked the gods for the best decision he had ever made. The thought of Nasir with him now, nailed to a cross, dying in agony beside him was more than his heart could bear. It was almost as painful as the thought that he would never see him again. 

Agron’s only comfort was that he’d achieved what he’d set out to do when he left with Crixus. He knew their plan to attack Rome was as insane was it was brilliant. He didn’t see how they could possibly be triumphant, but at least they would draw Roman troops and attention away from the rest of the fleeing slaves for long enough to give them a head start up the mountain pass. He knew he had already survived against impossible odds, and that one day his luck would finally run out, but it was a gamble he was willing to take to ensure that Nasir lived, and had a free future to look forward to. It had shattered him to ask the man he loved more than life itself to turn from him and head towards a future without him. His heart had broken to see Nasir’s tears at being cast aside, but not as much as it would have tortured Agron to have Nasir come with him and watch him die by a Roman sword. 

In the end, Nasir had reluctantly accepted Agron’s wishes, but not before he’d extracted a promise from him not to take unnecessary risks, and to come back to his arms safe and sound. Agron had made the promise and Nasir had received it with a small nod of his head and a look of terror in his eyes. They both knew in their hearts that they were spending their last hours in this world together, and when they made love that night for the last time, it had been bittersweet and tender. They hadn’t rushed their passion, they’d held each other gently and shared their love slowly, neither one wanting to get the other one go. Nasir had wept silently as Agron entered him for the last time, and Agron had kissed his tears away while blinking back tears of his own. Just before dawn Nasir had fallen asleep, his naked body pressed close to Agron’s, his arms and legs entwined around him, even in his sleep refusing to let go of the only man he had ever truly loved. 

But sleep had not come to Agron that night; instead he lay holding Nasir, watching him breathe. He had brushed his fingertip along his lover’s eyelashes and down the perfect profile of his nose, then he’d traced the outline of his beautiful mouth, willing himself to remember every tiny detail of him. He had buried his nose in Nasir’s hair and breathed in the warm, exotic scent of him. He’d run his hands through the thick, jet-black strands that he loved so much, twirling them around his fingers. He’d let his hands roam all over the sleeping Syrian’s body, marvelling at how smooth and soft his skin was. He had pressed his ear to Nasir’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. And when he’d thought his own heart would break with the love he felt, he’d kissed the very sensitive skin at the side of his beautiful warrior’s neck. Nasir had stirred in his sleep when Agron had done it, tilting his head to the side. The sight of that small movement had brought fresh tears to Agron’s eyes. Nasir loved having his neck kissed and touched. Agron had always wondered if it was the slave collar Nasir had worn that had made his skin so ultra-sensitive there. Whatever it was, it had been the trigger for many nights of passion for the two of them. Even if Nasir was tired and not in the mood, all Agron had to do was run a finger, or the tip of his tongue, up the side of Nasir’s neck. With rough kisses and gentle nips of his teeth, he would have Nasir aroused and starting to pull off what little clothing he wore. 

Now, nailed to that Roman cross, his chest heaved with wracking sobs at all he had lost. The heartache of knowing he would never see or hold Nasir again, caused him more pain than his wounds. Knowing that he would never feel his body pressed close, or see his carefree smile, never hear his voice calling Agron’s name, or have the silly way he giggled fall on his ears again, caused his chest to tighten and made Agron scream out in agony. And just when he thought he couldn’t feel any more hurt than he already did, a new torturous thought entered his head - Castus. 

That fucking Cilician pirate, Agron wished he’d killed him when he’d had the chance. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he looked, Castus was there with this handsome face, his beguiling smile and his charmingly bold words. His friendship with Nasir stabbed at Agron’s heart, but he couldn’t blame Nasir. All his life the boy had been a slave to someone else’s commands. He’d had to fuck a man he detested and endure embraces that made his skin crawl. When his Roman master held feasts and offered his slaves for the sexual enjoyment of his guests, Nasir had no choice but to endure whatever they did to him. Until Spartacus had ripped the collar from his neck, the little body-slave had never known the freedom of saying no. Nor had he ever felt a caress from a man given out of love. Now, with the freedom to make his own choices, Nasir was flattered by the attention he attracted. Never before allowed to make a friend of his own, he now relished the prospect of having companions of his own choosing. 

Nasir turned many heads, Agron saw it wherever they went, but the Syrian was oblivious to his own beauty. More than once a bold man had made an approach, but one threatening look from Agron would have them backing away again. All except the Cilician. He was defiantly bold in his pursuit of Nasir. And now, without even a fair fight, the pirate had won him. They would face the future together, they would grow old together and they would die together as free men. It would be Castus who held Nasir’s hand in the last moments of his life, Castus who would lay him to rest, Castus who would carry a lifetime of memories with him. Jealous fury boiled in Agron’s blood and he let loose a sky-piercing scream. 

Caesar and Crassus looked up from the map they were studying and saw Agron on his cross, his mouth open in an agonising cry, but still refusing to talk, and refusing to die. 

“Would that we had more like him in our ranks,” Caesar said, almost impressed by the sheer force of the German’s will and his refusal to admit defeat, even in the face of death. “If he would but tell of location of slave’s camp, he could see end to his suffering.” 

“I will have it out of him before death claims him,” Crassus replied. “Sooner or later he will break words.”

They returned to their map, tracing the lines of mountain ridges and rivers, discussing the possible routes Spartacus might take to lead his followers to freedom. Moments later a guard came running into the tent. 

“Apologies for interruption Imperator, the prisoner speaks.”

They rushed to the foot of Agron’s cross and watched his mouth forming silent words. 

“I would hear what he bleats!” Marcus Crassus roared.

A soldier leaned a ladder against the back of the cross and climbed it. He placed his face next to the gladiator’s head, his ear close to Agron’s mouth. 

“I do not hold much favour with you, but I ask that you spare him and see him to safety. I would give my life that he may be saved and die free,” Agron’s voice was soft, his strength was waning. His words were barely audible. 

“The prisoner prays, Imperator,” the Roman centurion called down to the two men at the foot of the cross. 

“Words wasted,” Crassus said, “The gods have no ears for his pleas.” 

“What words does he speak?” Caesar asked.

The soldier tilted his head closer to Agron. “He prays for one that holds his heart.” 

“The Syrian, Nasir,” Caesar grinned. 

The time he’d spent hiding and spying inside Spartacus’ city had proven useful in more than one way. Not only had he learned about the man’s plans and strategies together with his strength of weapons and the skill of his men, but he had learned more intimate details of their daily life too. He had seen the rift starting between Spartacus and Crixus, and he’d used it to his advantage. He had learned of the fierce, undying love between the Gaul Crixus and the slave Naevia. That knowledge had been the driving force in the decision not only to force her to watch Crixus’ head leave his shoulders, but to let her live so that she would suffer the memory of it, and relive the horror of it, every moment of every day for the rest of her life. She had also proved to be useful in carrying the news of Crixus’ defeat back to Spartacus. 

And now he remembered another great love, the one that Agron had for his boy Nasir. 

“I wager that your Syrian whore’s voice will not whisper in prayer, but cry out in pain when he takes place upon cross,” Caesar sniggered. “I hold memory of his voice resonating from your tent. Yet the cries he would make for me would not be of pleasure.”

“Difficult thing to nail man to cross when he is yet free and far from Roman bonds,” Agron grimaced. 

“A thing to be remedied in time,” Caesar smirked. “If you would pray for Nasir, waste not words on deaf gods, but break silence to me and have my oath that Nasir would not suffer when Spartacus’ hoard is captured.”

“Your oath?” Agron spat in disgust, knowing that Caesar’s word, like that of any Roman shit, meant nothing. “I would see him from this world with my own hands before seeing you lay hand upon him.” 

“Would that your broken hands could keep such promise,” Caesar laughed. 

Rage simmered inside Agron. They had taken his dignity, his ability to fight and now they threatened his capability of protecting the man he loved. He would strangle Caesar if he could, even with his useless hands. He turned his head slowly to the side and whispered to the soldier who was still up the ladder, his head near Agron’s face. 

“For protection of Nasir, I would tell of Spartacus’ location.”

The man leaned closer, his ear brushing against Agron’s mouth. 

With every ounce of strength he still possessed, Agron bit down as hard as he could. His teeth sank into the soft flesh of the soldier’s earlobe and cheek. He tasted the sour tang of blood and clenched his jaw harder, yanking his head away, ripping skin and muscle from bone. The man’s cry of shock and pain was deafening, the hurt was excruciating. Blood poured from him, covering himself and Agron. 

Agron spat the chunk of flesh at Crassus and Caesar, it landed at their feet. His laughter was half-crazed, the smell of blood bringing back his lust for battle. 

The soldier’s reaction was swift and agonizing; he punched Agron in the face so hard that his vision went black for a moment. Another blow from a soldier at the foot of the cross, struck him sharply across the shins. He didn’t know what had hit him, the hilt of a sword or a wooden beam, all he knew was that it hurt like Hades. 

“It must pain heart to have held victory so close to grasp, yet die as mongrel dog. You laid eyes upon gates of Rome, only to bend knee before her.” 

Crassus’ words stung. Agron had indeed laid eyes on the gates of Rome, and for the first time since he’d joined Crixus, he began to believe that victory might really be possible. To have stood so close to destiny, only to have it yanked away so cruelly was heart-wrenching to him. 

For weeks they had faced and defeated every legion that the Roman army sent against them, slowly making their way towards Rome. Four days ago, they had stood on the crest of the rise outside the city walls with nothing but an open plain and the small contingent that was guarding the city between them and victory. Agron couldn’t believe it, yet here they were looking upon the very gates of Rome itself. At first he had bitterly regretted leaving Nasir behind. Now with victory so close he could reach out and touch it, Agron had done everything in his power to bring Nasir back to him. Every time he came across an escaped slave planning to flee to the safety of Spartacus’ camp, Agron pulled them aside and gave them a message – ‘find Nasir and tell him to come to Rome.’ He wondered how many, if any at all, had made it to the rebel camp and delivered his message.

But it didn’t matter now, the army was defeated, Crixus was dead along with most of his men. There would be no entering Rome, no bringing the Empire to her knees, no blissful reunion with Nasir on the steps of the Senate. Agron’s only comfort now was that they had depleted and delayed the Roman army long enough to allow the others to escape. He wanted to believe with all his heart that Nasir would make it and have a full, happy, and most importantly, a free life beyond the reach of the mighty Roman Empire. It comforted him to think of Nasir growing old as a free man. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine him with silver hair and age-lined skin, living out his days in freedom and happiness, and one day slipping peacefully into the afterlife surrounded by those who loved him. Tears began to fall as Agron knew he would not be at Nasir’s bedside when that day came. He wept for all the years they would miss out on. He would never watch Nasir flourish and blossom under a free sun, he would never see him walk across their own lands, or sleep next to him in their own bed in their own home. He would never hold him again or hear his voice or breathe in the warm, unique scent of him. His ears would never again hear the ring of his laughter or the strained cries of his passion as Agron took him. Never again would he feel Nasir’s body underneath him, delighting in the heat of his skin, or see the ragged rise and fall of his chest as he lay sated in Agron’s arms. He would never again feel the heart-skipping pleasure of Nasir’s lips pressed to his and the wet warmth of his tongue, or know the magnificence of Nasir’s body eagerly accepting Agron’s cock into him. 

A great sob broke free as he mourned all that he had lost, all the hope, all the happiness, the entire future that he had so desperately wanted to give the man he loved. 

As the adrenaline that had surged through him when they crucified him gradually ebbed away, the pain became unbearable; nausea washed over him and Agron felt dizzy and weak. He knew he was fading, that his life was slowly coming to its close. It wasn’t the way he had hoped to die; he’d hoped for glory, to die in battle, sword in hand, a free man. Instead he was a prisoner of Rome, suppressed back into bondage, nailed to a cross, nothing more than a slave again. 

Even though the sun stood at its zenith, Agron felt that the light was fading, his vision was getting dimmer. His breathing was laboured and the sounds around him had receded into nothing more than a background hum. This is what dying feels like, he thought, and he embraced it willingly because it meant that he would be waiting for Nasir in the afterlife, greeting him with open arms when they were reunited again. His head dropped to his chest, his eyes open but unseeing except for the swirls of light and colour dancing before them. He closed them and tried to concentrate, he tried to conjure Nasir’s image from the confusion in his head, he wanted to die with that beautiful face in his mind, but to his horror, Agron couldn’t see his lover’s face clearly. He could get the silhouette of him, the dark shadows of his hair falling across his shoulders but he couldn’t bring Nasir’s face into focus. No matter how hard he tried, his mind could not form the picture clearly. 

With supreme effort, Agron lifted his head to the heavens. His lips were dry and it was a struggle to form the words of his small prayer, but he somehow managed to get them out. 

“Please,” he prayed to any of the gods that would listen. “I would see his face again, just one more time before I am taken from this world. Just once more… his face… I beg you…”

Agron’s eyes fluttered closed, his ears heard nothing more but the rushing of air, pain floated away from him, never to torture him again. And in his mind a face began to form out of the swirling mists of his thoughts. Dark hair, dark eyes, a smile to rival the sun. Features came into focus, but it was not Nasir’s face that Agron saw, nor his lover’s voice that he heard. 

Duro’s image danced before him, his smile bright and strangely comforting. “It is not yet your time Brother,” the phantom image said. “The gods ask yet more of you. Your day to slip the ties of life will come, but it is not this day Brother.” 

Agron exhaled a shaky, shuddering breath as his brother’s image faded, his body slumped forward and went limp as the silent blackness of unconsciousness enveloped him. 

 

To be continued….


	3. Reunion

CHAPTER 3 – REUNION

“Come, we must help,” Castus said to Nasir as they watched the long column of wounded and dying rebels return to the camp.

Nasir didn’t want to help but he reluctantly followed. Naevia joined them and together the trio stood in the midst of the returning throng. Among the faces were a few that Nasir recognised, and he watched with a freshly breaking heart as they were once again enfolded in the arms of the ones dearest to them. Naevia stood silently at his side, but he sensed Castus move away. Nasir turned and saw the pirate help a man who was trying to carry his injured wife. He wished he could find such selfless kindness in his own heart instead of watching them with bitterness and envy. 

Castus took the woman to the Medicus’ tent then returned to Nasir’s side, scanning the crowd for any others who might need his assistance. When he first saw Agron, his gaze brushed over him because he already had the support of a tall, fair-haired man who was helping him to walk. He kept looking, seeking out anyone who was trying to make their way alone, when suddenly, his mind registered what his eyes had seen - the helper was Spartacus and the man he aided was…. Agron?

The Cilician rubbed his eyes and looked again but the two were gone, swallowed by the crowd once more. He took a few steps to the side, viewing the mob from a different angle and caught sight of them again. This time there was no mistaking Agron’s face, even as bruised and battered as it was. 

“Fuck the gods,” he whispered, exhaling the words on a shocked breath. Turning his head back to where Nasir was still standing with Naevia, he realized that the Syrian was looking in another direction and hadn’t seen them.

Castus quickly stepped back to Nasir’s side, never taking his eyes off Agron and Spartacus in case he lost them in the crowd again. He knew he had to tell Nasir, but he hesitated for just a moment, knowing that as soon as the gladiator and the former slave were reunited, any hope he ever held of capturing Nasir’s heart would be gone forever. As his hand hovered an inch away from the little warrior’s spine, he saw Nasir give a small shake of his head and heard his heartfelt words. 

“Would that those we held to heart stood among them,” Nasir said softly, staring out into the crowd. 

It broke Castus’ heart to see him in so much pain, but knowing that he could end it brought little comfort. He would never hold Nasir’s heart or share his bed, but he knew he would always have his friendship. It would have to be enough, he told himself. 

“Nasir…” Castus spoke his name softly and gave him a gentle nudge in the small of his back. 

Nasir turned his head and saw Castus’ eyes were fixed on something. Turning back, he followed the line of his gaze, his own eyes opening wide in surprise when he saw what the Cilician had been looking at. 

Out in the crowd, standing a head taller than everyone else was Spartacus, and leaning on him, shuffling along at his side, his face beaten and bloodied, his lip split and one eye swollen shut, was the unmistakable form of Agron. 

A small gasp left Nasir’s lips as he stared incredulously at the answer to all his prayers. He willed his legs to move, but it took a moment before his body would respond. He wanted to run but his feet wouldn’t obey his brain’s command. Instead he stepped slowly, weaving in and out of the mob, his eyes never leaving Agron’s face. He panicked when people passed in front of him and he lost sight of the gladiator, but then his heart leapt with relief when the path cleared and his eyes found Agron again. At last, after what felt like a lifetime, he took one final step and found himself just a foot away from the man he thought he had lost forever. 

Agron was a mess, his body was battered and bleeding. There were bandages on his chest and his hands. His face was covered in mud and blood and his damaged eye was swollen closed. He was so weak he could barely walk. If Spartacus had not been holding him upright he would have slumped to the ground. But none of that mattered to Nasir. Agron was alive, that was the only thing he cared about. For one dreadful moment he wondered if his injuries were so bad that he may yet die, but even that didn’t matter to Nasir. Agron was back and whatever the gods threw at them from then on, they would face it together. 

His heart ached as his eyes swept over Agron’s broken body and he realised just how much he had suffered. A lump formed in Nasir’s throat and his brow creased in sorrow at the sight of the man he loved. But he swallowed his fears and vowed to be brave as he raised his hand to touch the face he never thought he would caress again. Be strong, he silently told himself. Be strong enough for both of us. 

Agron shuffled his feet, going wherever Spartacus led. He didn’t feel the pain of individual wounds anymore; his entire body was a red-hot, seething ball of hurt. His head was hanging down, his good eye was half closed, seeing only the ground that he dragged his aching feet over. 

When Spartacus stopped walking, so did he, but still he didn’t lift his head or try to look around … not until he felt the softest, gentlest bump of a forehead against his own. He raised his head and found himself gazing at the exquisite face he had prayed so hard to see again. Nasir’s eyes were glistening with tears and his brow was furrowed with concern. His lips quivered as he stroked the side of Agron’s face. His touch was so gentle and warm, so full of love and forgiveness. Agron’s face crumpled as his tears threatened spill, but a gentle shake of Nasir’s head stopped them. He felt Spartacus lift his arm and carefully place it on the little warrior’s shoulder. 

“The gods return you to my arms,” were Nasir’s simple words of greeting, but they told Agron everything he needed to know. He was blessed; he was back in Nasir’s arms, back where he belonged. 

“I was fool to ever leave them,” he replied, relief and gratitude washing over him. 

He felt the warmth and strength of Nasir’s arm around his waist as the little Syrian took Spartacus’ place and they slowly began to walk again. 

“Come, I will help shoulder weight,” Nasir said softly as Agron leaned on him and let himself be led away. They were words that he had once said to Nasir, but it seemed a lifetime ago. They walked cautiously, Agron hobbling painfully and Nasir supporting him tenderly until they had left the jostling crowds behind and walked among the rows of tents in the camp.

“Is Medicus not that way?” Agron asked as Nasir led him down a narrow track away from the injured people being tended outside a tent further along the path. 

“Home is this way,” Nasir replied. “Medicus will come to you.”

A soft sob heaved from Agron’s chest when he heard the word _‘home’_ come from Nasir’s mouth. Home. He had come home. 

But home to what?

It had been months since he had left to fight with Crixus, months since he had set Nasir free to follow his own path, one that Agron knew would eventually take him to another man’s arms. On the way back from Crassus’ camp, Spartacus had told him of Naevia’s return and Crixus’ death. Agron was filled with relief to know that she had survived, but he felt the loss of the gallant Gaul deeply. Even though they had not always been friends, their years together on the battlefield had forged a tentative bond of respect between the two men. But it was Spartacus’ next words that caused the German’s heart to ache. He told Agron that Naevia had also brought news of Agron’s death and that Nasir had been inconsolable in his grief. He spoke of the constant love and care that Nasir had received, and how he had never been alone in his anguish.

Agron knew he’d broken Nasir’s heart when he left him behind, but he’d hoped that one day Nasir would understand and forgive him. He’d been sure that he was going to his own certain death when he followed Crixus, but he had been willing to sacrifice himself if it meant that the others, Nasir among them, would see out their old age in freedom. But above even freedom and safety, the one thing he wanted most for Nasir was happiness, and Agron wasn’t fool enough to believe he would find that happiness alone. The hardest thing he had come to terms with was accepting that Nasir would find love with someone else. And as much as it tormented him to think of it, he knew it would be Castus that Nasir would give his heart to in the end. 

But it was one thing to die and leave Nasir to the arms of another without ever having to witness it, and quite another to have survived and come back here to see him with someone else. To hear him laugh and see him smile for another lover, to think of him sleeping in another man’s bed, Agron didn’t think he could bear it. Despite Nasir’s words that the gods had delivered Agron back into his arms, Agron wasn’t convinced that he was the only one in them. He wondered how long it had been before Castus had made his move into Nasir’s tent and into his bed. And now Nasir seemed to be taking him to that very tent. He wasn’t sure he could handle what he’d find there. As it was, it had been a blessing not to lay eyes on the Cilician so far, but he feared that would change once the flap of the tent was pulled back. 

When they reached it, Nasir guided him inside. Agron’s swollen eyes struggled to focus in the dim light, but he could make out the shape of a man sitting in the gloom at the far end. His heart sank and he tried to take a deep breath to calm himself.

“Fuck the gods! He lives!” the man exclaimed and stood up. 

Agron knew that voice even before the shaggy-haired shape of Gannicus emerged from the murky shadows. 

“Fall from fucking sight, Bringer of Sleep,” Nasir growled playfully, swatting a hand at him. 

Agron wondered why Gannicus was in Nasir’s tent, and he was curious to know what had happened between them to make Nasir throw such a casual command at him, and give him such a strange new name.

Gannicus chuckled that peculiar, bewitching laugh of his. He wrapped an arm around Nasir’s shoulder in a quick embrace, bumping his chin gently against the top of Nasir’s head. 

“You are truly blessed,” he said softly, then made to leave the tent, but not before he had laid his hand on Agron’s shoulder and squeezed it carefully. “My heart sings to see you return to us brother. My eyes don’t fucking believe it, but my heart rejoices.” 

Much had changed in Gannicus of late and the absence of a few months made the changes more noticeable to Agron. The Celt’s eyes were clearer, his footing steadier and he didn’t reek of wine. Agron wondered how much, if anything, Nasir had to do with it.

With his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Agron cast his gaze over his surroundings. There was no sign of Castus inside the tent, nor any hint that he had ever been there. The single bedroll on the narrow cot was barely big enough for even a small man like Nasir to sleep on. Only Nasir’s belongings were scattered over the crates and planks that served as furniture. The only things that didn’t belong to Nasir were Agron’s old cloak that was rolled up at the head of the bed, and seemed to be used as a pillow, and a newer, red Roman cloak that Agron had taken from a soldier in Sinuessa - that was at the foot of the bed and it looked like Nasir used it as a blanket. His jaw hurt when he smiled but he couldn’t help it. Nasir had always had a habit of taking his things. He remembered back, a lifetime ago, to the temple by Vesuvius when he had returned from the raid on Neapolis, only to find that Nasir had been on a raid of his own. He greeted Agron with a hug and a kiss, and wearing Agron’s cloak. It was too big for him and almost dragged on the ground, the sight of it had made Agron laugh and fall in love with him just a little bit more. 

“You have sticky fingers and my clothes have strange ability to adhere to them,” he had said back then. 

Nasir had shrugged and grinned back at him. “I would have you near me always,” he had answered. 

As he glanced around now and saw more of his belongings among Nasir’s things, Agron shook his head slowly. “Thieving Syrian,” he said, giving him a weak smile. 

“Yet I stand absent my red silk kilt from Sinuessa too,” Nasir replied with a questioning arch of his eyebrow. 

With a small nod of his head Agron acknowledged that he had taken it. He hadn’t been able to resist taking one small part of Nasir with him, and in the end that simple garment had brought him so much comfort. He kissed it for good luck before going into battle and pressed his face to it at night, breathing in the lingering scent of Nasir’s body. 

His remembrance of it was interrupted when the tent flap moved and the Medicus came in followed closely by Laeta. Her eyes fell on Agron and filled with tears. 

“The sight of you is answer to prayer,” she said before turning to embrace Nasir. They hugged each other tightly, she whispered words to him, her mouth pressed close to Nasir’s ear, then she kissed his cheek and hugged him again. Like Gannicus, the Roman woman seemed to have grown close to Nasir in his absence. 

They helped him to sit down on the bed so the Medicus could examine his wounds. Nasir watched bravely as the bandages were removed and the full extent of Agron’s injuries revealed. He wanted to cry when he saw Agron’s damaged hands, but to Nasir’s surprise the physician seemed strangely pleased. 

“The gods favour you,” he said turning Agron’s hands over. “You may yet regain use of hands but perhaps not full strength. If nail was driven through wrists instead of palm, you might have lost hands entirely.” 

In his attempt to prevent Agron from ever gripping a sword again, Caesar had done him a favour. Spikes driven through his wrist would have severed more nerves and vital tendons than nails through his palms had done. Bones had been broken and muscles torn, but whether by luck or the intervention of the gods, they had missed the median nerves in both of Agron’s hands. To prolong his suffering, the Romans had bound him to the cross, strapping both his lower and upper arms, which supported his body and didn’t allow the nails to rip through his hands as his weight pulled down on them. It would be a long and painful road to recovery, but the Medicus predicted that he would heal. He’d never be as strong as he once was, but he would not be crippled either. Nasir sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods as he listened to the Medicus instructions on how to clean the wounds and apply new bandages to them. 

“Twice a day,” the physician insisted. “Re-use bandages, but boil in water over fire to clean. Wash hands before applying balm to wound to stave off infection. If wound swells or reddens, you must seek me immediately.” 

Vials of liquid and pouches of powder changed hands as the Medicus showed Nasir how to mix the medicine for Agron. “Willow bark and milk of poppy, for pain and to aid in sleep,” he said, swirling the mixture in a cup and handing it to Nasir who gently tipped the bitter liquid into Agron’s mouth. 

After a few more words of advice and instruction, Laeta and the Medicus left. For a blissful moment they were alone in silence, then the tent flap was pushed hesitantly aside and Castus appeared in the doorway. Agron stared at him, his worst fears threatening to become reality. 

“Laeta says you are in need of heated water, I have lit fire and fetched water,” Castus said softly to Nasir. 

“Gratitude,” Nasir said, turning to him with a soft smile.

It looked like Castus was ready to duck back out of the tent when he stopped and turned his eyes to Agron. “It is blessing to find you back among us,” he said.

“I did not think you to hold such sentiment,” Agron replied tersely.

“It is blessing for Nasir, and to see him so lifted in sprit gladdens my heart,” Castus replied truthfully. 

“Agron…” Nasir’s voice was soft but held an unmistakeable warning for him to hold his tongue. 

He dismissed Castus with more words of thanks for making a fire and bringing the water, and at last the two men were alone. Nasir seemed about to say something, but instead, he simply wrapped his arms around Agron and buried his face in the crook of Agron’s neck. The tears that he had managed to hold back since their miraculous reunion, finally spilled down his cheeks as Agron’s arms slid around his shoulders, gripping him tightly. 

Overwhelmed by emotion Agron pressed a kiss to the top of his beautiful boy’s head, breathing in the gratifyingly comforting and familiar scent of him. His own tears fell onto Nasir’s hair. Words would come later, they both knew it, but for now all they needed was to feel the solid reassurance of their bodies pressed close together. 

“It seems I am in Laeta’s debt,” Agron said when they finally let go of each other and he had kissed the tears from Nasir’s cheeks. “She has shown you great care.” 

Nasir nodded and began to tell Agron about the many kind and loving people who had carried him through the darkest days of his life. As he spoke he helped Agron to stand up and carefully removed the few clothes he was wearing. He went outside and fetched boiling water from the fire, pouring it into a large bowl. While it cooled he picked up a flask of olive oil and tipped some into his hands, then he spread it all over Agron’s skin, rubbing it in gently, careful to avoid touching his wounds. Agron watched Nasir’s hands gently massaging the oil into him, lingering over the spots where he knew Agron loved to be touched. His own lips quivered with emotion and a lump tightened in his throat, but when Nasir glanced up at his face he forced himself to smile. 

With careful sweeps of a metal strigil Nasir scraped away the mud, dried blood and grime that caked Agron’s skin. Nasir had often performed this bathing ritual for him, it was something he usually found very arousing, but tonight he felt only the tender love and care of Nasir’s hands on him. When every trace of Roman filth and the battlefields was scoured from Agron’s body, Nasir splashed a few drops of scented liquid into the bowl of hot water and dipped a cloth into it. He scrubbed away the remnants of oil and dirt, leaving Agron’s skin clean and tingling. Then checking that the bandages were secure, he helped Agron to lie down. 

By now the medicine was taking effect and Agron’s eyes were heavy. He let Nasir help him into the bed and tuck him under a warm blanket. He watched sleepily as Nasir opened a chest and pulled out more bedding and another blanket. Then Nasir lashed together the poles and pegs of another camp bed and pushed it next to Agron’s, recreating the double cot they had always slept on. He spread the blankets over it but did not climb into the bed. Instead, he sat on top of it and gently ran his hand through Agron’s hair, settling in to keep vigil over him all night. 

“Sleep,” Agron whispered, but Nasir shook his head. 

“Once I feared sleep for ghost of you haunted my dreams. Now I fear sleep in case waking finds you are yet a dream and returned forever to afterlife.” 

“Then l would hold you till you wake in my arms and see I am not dream, but living flesh and blood.” 

“I fear I would cling to you in sleep and reopen wounds,” Nasir replied.

“A risk I would gladly take to feel your body next to mine,” Agron told him. 

The Syrian hesitantly shed his clothes and crawled in next to his lover. The heat of Agron’s fevered skin warmed him as he manoeuvred himself until they touched all down their length. Agron lay on his back and Nasir on his side, pressed against Agron’s body. He snuggled closer, relishing the embrace of the strong arm that curled around him, then slid his leg over Agron’s, the top of his thigh nestling against Agron’s cock, and his own shaft snug against his lover’s hip. It was how they had always slept together; Nasir enfolded in Agron’s arms, a leg draped over him and his head tucked into the curve of Agron’s shoulder. If one of them turned over in the night, the other would spoon up close behind him, an arm protectively slung over his mate’s body, warm skin pressed to warm skin. They had never slept back to back or without touching each other. 

In spite of his best efforts to stay awake in case Agron needed him, Nasir was soon asleep, emotional and exhausted, yet comforted by Agron’s presence, and feeling safe in the familiar arm wrapped lovingly around him. 

Agron did not sleep so easily even though the medicine had made him drowsy. He lay awake listening to the sounds of the campground. When he closed his eyes he saw Caesar’s wolfish grin and the hammer and spike in his hands. To keep the nightmares at bay, Agron nuzzled Nasir’s hair and kissed the top of his head gently. He banished the memories of the torture he had endured by filling his eyes with the sight of the man sleeping so peacefully next to him, and breathing in the warm scent of his skin. Even though he felt sleep tugging at him, like Nasir, he was afraid of slumber – afraid that he would wake up and find this was all a dream and he was still hanging from that dreadful Roman cross. He calmed himself by concentrating on Nasir’s deep, even breathing. 

Eventually silence settled over the camp. The night was very still, not even a gust of air rustling the leaves of the trees. So quiet that the sound of footsteps crunching on the loose gravel just outside the tent carried easily to Agron’s ears. He held his breath, feeling the grip of terror in the pit of his stomach as he realised that somebody was carefully plucking at the knot that secured the flap of the tent. 

 

To be continued….


	4. A Trust Unbroken

CHAPTER 4 - A TRUST UNBROKEN

Agron held his breath, straining to listen as someone crept outside the tent and slowly undid the ties. His aching body tensed in readiness as he watched the flickering flame of an oil lamp appear through the opening, followed by Laeta’s head peeking in behind it.

“Apologies for intrusion Nasir, the hour is late but I would see how Agron fares.” 

Agron heaved a shuddering sigh of relief. He hushed her with a finger to his lips and pointed to the boy who was asleep with his head on Agron’s chest and an arm wrapped snuggly around him. 

Laeta smiled, surprised to find that it not Agron, but Nasir, who had fallen into an exhausted and well deserved slumber. 

“Have you need of anything?” she asked in a whisper so not to wake him. 

“Water,” Agron mouthed silently back. 

Laeta poured a cup for him, then pulled a small crate over to the side of the camp bed and sat down on it. She slipped her hand behind Agron’s neck to help support his head as she held the cup to his lips. He drank all of it and thanked her with a weak smile. 

“The heart lifts to see him in your arms again,” Laeta said. “He was but a ghost shrouded in grief at your loss. The gods have returned you both to the living.” 

She watched as Agron tried to pluck at the tie in Nasir’s hair, then leaned over to help him. Her nimble fingers picked at the knot and untied the thin leather cord, pulling it free. Nasir’s hair tumbled loose, softly framing his sleeping face. She saw Agron’s bandaged hand stroke his lover’s head, the tips of his fingers threading through jet black strands before caressing the side of Nasir’s neck and coming to rest on his shoulder. Nasir murmured in his sleep and snuggled closer to Agron, moving his face against Agron’s warm skin. 

“It is blessing to see him finally fall to dreams,” Laeta said as she watched Nasir being so sweetly caressed in his sleep. “He had little desire for sleep or food in your absence.”

“Nasir has spoken of your kindness and the comfort offered to him. Gratitude for your care,” Agron spoke softly, fearful of disturbing the slumber his lover was finally enjoying. 

“We but shared the common bond of loss,” Laeta told him wistfully. “None understand the ache of a heart heavy with grief until they have borne it themselves. We shared many words and tears at fireside.”

“Were you alone in offering comfort?” Agron asked. As much as he feared the answer, he had to know. 

Laeta held his gaze and shook her head slowly. “No I was not. Sibyl sat with him often and prayed for him. Spartacus kept careful eye on him and Gannicus saw that he took food and rest.” 

“Who else?” Agron pushed.

“Nasir is among friends, many have broken words with him and offered him comfort,” Laeta told him. “He often sought Lugo out to hear tales of your homeland. Naevia too, but her grief was yet too raw for little more than tears.”

“What of Castus?” 

Laeta gave a small, wry laugh. “You still concern yourself with this? Nasir sleeps in your arms, yet your thoughts turn only to Castus?” 

“I was fool to leave Nasir’s arms, but not fool enough to believe there were no other arms ready to receive him,” Agron said. 

“Even with eyes open you still cannot see,” Laeta sighed. “Yes, there were arms and heart that would gladly have received him, but Nasir held no desire for them. His heart is yours, as it always was. It is true that Castus is bold of actions and words. He waged battles of conquest for Nasir’s attention, but Nasir stood equally set of mind in resistance. On battlefield, as in matters of the heart, your boy stands undefeated. Castus’ actions were born of lust, but after unending rejection from Nasir his thoughts turned to friendship, and he has become valued friend,” she paused for a moment to let her words sink in before continuing. “Castus has provided fire and food when Nasir refused to do so himself. He has kept your boy’s thoughts focussed on living and training when Nasir’s thoughts turned only to dying.”

“That is all?” Agron asked, the anguish still visible on his face. 

“Take my words to heart, they are the truth,” Laeta replied, placing her hand gently on Agron’s shoulder. “Nasir stands absent the touch of another man. He has not broken your trust. Place Castus from thoughts Agron, only one man need occupy your mind and it is he that sleeps by your side. I speak boldly to you because Nasir has great meaning to me and I would not see him wounded by your misplaced thoughts. The gods bless you and return you to his loving arms, do not see opportunity laid to waste.”

Agron turned his gaze from Laeta to the sleeping body next to him. He hugged Nasir in silence while Laeta busied herself pouring more water into a cup. She emptied the last of the poppy milk and willow bark tincture into it and swirled it around, then added honey to make it more palatable. She left it on the crate for Agron if he needed it when he woke later, then she bent down and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. She caressed Nasir’s head, letting her fingers slip through his soft hair. 

“I will return after sunrise with food,” she whispered as she left the tent, securing the flap shut behind her. 

Agron kissed the top of Nasir’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair. Nasir’s skin glowed in the dim flicker of the oil lamp Laeta had left behind and Agron traced a finger down his lover’s arm, his heart swelling with pride and love for the beautiful man who was nothing but a blessing to him. He wondered what he had done to deserve the gods honouring him with such a gift. 

Just knowing that no man had touched Nasir was a balm in itself. Agron’s hands were the last to caress that soft, dusky skin, his lips were the last to press to Nasir’s mouth, his tongue the last to taste him. No other fingers had run through his hair and no other cock had been inside him. Only Agron’s ears had heard his cries of pleasure, and his hands and mouth alone had received the gift of Nasir’s spilled seed. Even after he thought Agron was dead, Nasir had honoured him by keeping his body pure to Agron’s memory. He had never known love like this and he felt like his heart would burst from it. The giant gladiator wrapped his arms tighter around the little man he loved and hugged him close, nuzzling his nose into Nasir’s hair and peppering his forehead with kisses.

*

True to her word, Laeta returned in the morning with food. Nasir was awake but still curled up next to Agron in their bed. He smiled when he saw her and sat up. The sleep had done him good, he still had dark circles under his eyes but they weren’t as bad as before. Even his appetite seemed to be back as he eagerly took the bowl of food she offered.

“Gratitude,” he said as he tore a chunk of bread from the loaf she had given him with the food. 

“It pleases me to see you eat and sleep once more, and a smile so readily on your face. The gods have returned you both from the afterlife.” 

“I held no life without him at my side. Less so happiness,” Nasir replied as he ate. He kept glancing at Agron as if to make sure that he really was alive and back in their tent. 

Drawn from his sleep by their soft voices and the smell of food, Agron stirred and rubbed his eyes. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, then he turned his head and saw Nasir smiling down at him. He struggled to sit up even with both Nasir and Laeta’s help. Everything hurt, his whole body ached, he was in agony. Medicus said it would be like that, his muscles would stiffen and hidden traumas would make themselves known. Looking down at his bare torso he seemed to have more bruises than yesterday. He winced in pain when he reached for the cup of medicine Laeta had left and Nasir had to help him hold it to his lips so that he could drink it. 

“Fucking Romans!” he cursed as he lay painfully back down again. Then he looked at Laeta and her kind face and realized what he’d said. “Apologies,” he grunted. 

“No need, they no longer stand countrymen of mine. I hold neither love nor loyalty to Rome.” she said, her hand involuntarily going to the slave brand she now bore on her arm. “Nasir, would you have me stay to aid in changing bandages?” she asked. 

Nasir shook his head, saying he would do it himself, but first he wanted Agron to eat. Laeta nodded and got up to leave, saying that she would look in on them again later and bring more willow bark and poppy milk. 

“Have you much pain?” Nasir asked as Agron struggled to sit up again. 

“A little,” Agron lied knowing that Nasir didn’t believe him. 

When he was sitting as comfortably as he could, Nasir handed him a bowl of food and the rest of the bread. His stomach growled, making him realize how hungry he was, but as hard as he tried he couldn’t get a grip on the handle of the spoon. It wasn’t the pain that stopped him so much as that he had little control over his fingers and even less strength in his hands. 

“I would help you,” Nasir said, taking the spoon from Agron and lifting it to his mouth.

But Agron pursed his lips and turned his head away, tears of frustration and anger welling in his eyes. The Romans had taken everything from him when they took his ability to hold a sword and fight, and now they’d taken his dignity too, he couldn’t even feed himself. He was as helpless as a child. 

“You must eat, you must regain strength,” Nasir urged him, pushing the spoon against his mouth. 

“I cannot drag you to future such as this,” Agron said, pushing Nasir’s hand away. “You are soldier and warrior, not mother to helpless babe. I would not be burden to you. You must see yourself from my side and make proper life.”

“I would do no such thing!” Nasir hissed at him, and before Agron could protest, he shoved a spoonful of food into his mouth. With determination burning in his eyes, he glared at Agron. “I suffered greatly at your loss, I would not see myself parted from your arms again.”

Agron opened his mouth to object but Nasir pushed more food into it. 

“I am more than warrior and soldier,” he continued. “I am lover and friend. I am one that holds your heart as you hold mine. You are not burden to me Agron; you are my heart and my life. If I stood as you do, injured and in need of aid, would you walk away? Would you abandon me to seek brighter future?” Nasir’s voice was simmering with fury. 

Agron did not reply.

“Would you?” Nasir demanded.

“Never,” Agron said softly with a shake of his head.

“Then do not ask it of me,” Nasir said, pushing another spoonful of food into Agron’s mouth. “You are not hopeless babe, you but carry wounds, ones that will heal in time. Medicus has said so.”

“But Nasir…” Agron began before Nasir hushed him with a finger to his lips.

“Stop bleating and allow me to care for you as you have cared for me. Let me heal wounds as you once healed mine.”

“I do not deserve you,” Agron said, running his fingers down the Syrian’s face. The feel of his unshaven cheek was so familiar and reassuring.

“No, you do not,” Nasir grinned, taking Agron’s hand and carefully kissing his bandaged palm. “Yet you shall not see me from your arms so easily.” 

Agron ate the rest of his meal in silence, letting Nasir feed him and reluctantly accepting that he would need help with even the simplest tasks until he was properly healed. When he finished eating, Nasir cleaned his wounds and changed his bandages. The injuries still looked terrible but at least there was no sign of infection. Agron began to feel drowsy, his body ached despite the painkilling medicine and he lay down again, pulling Nasir with him. 

“Tell me, I would hear of it,” Nasir whispered softly once he had settled himself at Agron’s side. 

Agron took a deep breath and curled his arm around Nasir, hugging him tightly. He told of the battles they had fought and the victories they had gained in the first few weeks. He admitted to a growing sense of respect and admiration for Crixus and the way he led their army. Nasir listened in silence, nodding his head occasionally and gently tracing circular patterns on Agron’s stomach with his thumb. 

When Agron started to tell of their last battle his voice became softer and his words faltered. “We stood victorious, Rome at our feet,” Agron said, still shaking his head at the memory. “When I heard trumpet I thought it was ours in celebration. I could not believe eyes when Crassus’ legions appeared over rise. I have never seen numbers so vast.”

Nasir listened to Agron tell how the thousands of Roman’s had swept down on them. They didn’t stand a chance, their numbers already so depleted from the first battle, and those that remained were exhausted from the day’s fighting.

“Crixus commanded me to remain and hold ground. He went with Naevia to secure western flank. It was last I saw of him. I do not know how he fell,” Agron said wistfully as he remembered the last sight he’d had of the Gaul - tired, bloodied but shouting out orders and running into the thick of battle to try and salvage what was left of their chances.

“Naevia has told me of Crixus’ terrible last moments,” Nasir said quietly. “I will tell it to you later.”

Agron nodded. He wanted to know, but he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear it just then. The medicine was taking effect and Agron couldn’t fight the drowsiness anymore. He sighed deeply, his grip on Nasir loosening ever so slightly as he began to doze off. 

Nasir lay beside him watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He turned Agron’s words over in his mind. As well as the taunting words Caesar had offered him while he was on the cross, Agron had also overheard some of the plans he and Marcus Crassus were making to deal with Spartacus and his followers. He did not tell Nasir all the horrific details of what would await them if Crassus ever caught up with them, but he did warn him that Rome would never rest until she had brought all the rebels to heel and made examples of their leaders. But Nasir didn’t care what the future held for them, or what the gods would see fit to throw at them, the only thing he knew for sure was that he would never leave this man’s arms again, even if it meant following him into battle and dying at his side. 

 

To be continued….


	5. Farewells and Reconnections

CHAPTER 5 - FAREWELLS AND RECONNECTIONS.

“This night, hearts lift in joyous reunion with those thought lost to us. Fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and lovers, hold them close for the shadow of Rome is upon us.”

The opening words of Spartacus’ speech at Crixus’ funeral were rousing and struck a chord with all those gathered to send their friend, and fellow warrior, to the afterlife with honour. They stood together in quiet dignity, Agron at Nasir’s side, his arm resting on the smaller man’s shoulder. Nasir gripped his spear with one hand, his other arm wrapped around Agron’s waist. On hearing the word ‘ _lover_ ’, Nasir’s arm tightened and his hand gently stroked Agron’s side. His heart went out to Naevia, standing alone in her grief to honour the man she loved. Just days ago, he too had known the heart-wrenching pain of loss. He still woke in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat, terrified that it had all been a dream and Agron was really lost. The relief that washed over him when he found the gladiator still there, asleep beside him, made the thoughts of Naevia’s terrible sorrow weigh all the more heavily on him. 

When Spartacus spoke of seeking their destiny together whatever the cost, and that all those who were able to fight would make a final stand against Rome, Agron winced. Nasir glanced sideways at him and sensed the torment he felt. In taking the use of his hands from him, the Romans had robbed Agron of the only life he had ever known. Agron, the fierce warrior from the lands east of the Rhine, Gladiator from the House of Batiatus, and respected General in a free rebel army, now thought of himself as nothing more than a cripple, an extra mouth to feed, and an unnecessary burden for the rebellion to carry. In that moment, Nasir vowed that he would give Agron his dignity back, and to find a way for him to take up his sword and fight again. 

As Naevia lit the pyre and flames engulfed Crixus’ head and shield, the rebels began calling out the names of the fallen, one by one – _Sura… Varro… Mira… Oenomaus_. Agron called out the name of his brother Duro and Nasir’s heart ached for him and the loss he felt. He sent a silent prayer of heartfelt gratitude to the gods for the miracle of sparing Agron’s life. Without their mercy, he too would have been standing there, alone in the world and calling out Agron’s name in remembrance to the heavens. 

When all of the fallen were named together, Agron realized just how many there were, how many precious lives Rome had stolen. He felt numb. So many friends, so many brothers, all gone. It made him feel weak, his body ached and he leaned more heavily on Nasir who bore his weight with ease, as if he was a feather. As the crowd chanted Crixus name, their voices echoing in the night sky, Agron became aware that Nasir seemed taller, he stood straighter, staring ahead with determination and resolve etched on his face. His posture had straightened and he gripped his spear more powerfully. The light of the fire reflected on his face and Agron saw the clenched muscles in his jaw. His eyes swept over Nasir’s body, observing the strength in his limbs, the definition of muscle under smooth skin. He turned his head and stared more fully as the realization hit him - Nasir was no longer a boy needing his protection, he was a man in his own right, a strong and powerful warrior capable of facing an enemy and holding his own on the battlefield. It slowly dawned on Agron that Nasir had always been those things, he had always been fierce and brave, but his smaller size and his gentle nature had fooled Agron into thinking he was delicate and in need of protection. He had given him up, and let go of everything they had together in the mistaken belief that he was protecting him. Now he realized that Nasir would have willingly followed him into the midst of the most ferocious battle without fear. He had been wrong to leave him behind to follow Crixus. He should have taken Nasir with him - he would have fared just fine on the battlefield without Agron’s help or protection. Just as he always had done. 

Walking back to the camp from Crixus’ funeral, Agron found Naevia at his side. Nasir dropped back a few paces and let them walk ahead. They had not spoken since Agron returned and Nasir knew that they had things they needed to say to each other. Their heads were bent together deep in conversation when they turned towards Naevia’s tent. Nasir was unsure whether to follow them, he hesitated, deciding what to do when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Castus at his side. With a tilt of his head, Castus told Nasir to leave them and follow him. The Syrian looked back for just a moment before he turned and walked away with Castus, leaving Agron and Naevia to disappear down the path ahead. 

When they reached Naevia’s tent, Agron wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. They exchanged much needed words as he offered her all the comfort he could give as she mourned the lost Gaul. 

“I often held disagreement with Crixus, but I grew to hold him in much esteem too,” Agron said. 

“As he did you,” Naevia replied. Her tears fell against his chest and he held her tighter. 

“Would the gods grant me but one wish it would be to see him returned to your arms as I have returned to Nasir’s,” Agron whispered, his lips brushing the top of her head. 

“A wish you have already granted me in times past,” Naevia said in a soft voice. “You risked life on foolish mission to arena in Capua to bring him back to me. A thing I shall always be grateful for.” 

They talked a while longer. Agron admitted the guilt he felt for surviving when Crixus was dead, but Naevia told him the fierce Gaul would not want him to wallow in self-pity, he would want Agron to find a way to keep spilling Roman blood. They shared memories of times long past, they shed tears and even allowed laughter to bubble from their grief-stricken hearts. It was good to see Naevia smile again, if only for a moment. Eventually exhaustion overwhelmed her and Agron snagged a blanket from the end of her camp bed to cover her. He sat with her, watching her eyelids flutter as her sleep was disturbed by painful dreams, and when his longing to be near Nasir became too much, he leaned down and gently kissed her forehead, whispering a prayer to the gods to grant her just one night of peaceful sleep.

He went back to his own tent but found it empty. In the distance he heard the sound of laughter and voices, and stepping back outside he saw a fire burning a little way off. He walked towards it and found a crowd of people sitting around the dancing flames. They were passing jugs of wine and their voices were raised in jovial conversation. After the intense emotion of the funeral it seemed that they needed a lighter mood and cheerful distraction. Nasir was among them and sitting next to him was Castus. Agron walked over slowly, his eyes glaring at the Cilician. As he drew near, Castus stood up and stepped away from Nasir. He offered a cup of wine to Agron and smiled uneasily at him.

“Sit and share drink,” he said. 

Nasir turned his head and saw the expression on Agron’s face. His eyes narrowed and he shot Agron a stern look that said ‘ _do not start quarrel’_

Agron was annoyed, but he heeded the warning and took the cup from Castus then sat down next to Nasir. For a while he simply sat there drinking the wine and listening to the conversations going on around him. People spoke of their past lives in bondage and told tales of their years in slavery, but as the wine flowed more freely, so the laughter rolled off their tongues more spontaneously. Next to him, Nasir threw his head back and laughed joyfully. It was a sound that gladdened Agron’s heart and he realised how much he’d missed it. 

Nasir had always had two ways of expressing delight. One was a full-throated laugh that sometimes saw his body doubled over in mirth until he gasped for breath and tears rolled down his cheeks. The other was a delightful giggle that escaped from his throat every time something amused him, which was often. Agron watched him out of the corner of his eye, drinking in the beauty of him; the brightness of his smile, the perfection of his nose in profile, the way strands of his hair escaped from their tie and framed his face in soft curls. Agron looked at Nasir’s hands as he lifted the wine up to his lips. He loved those hands. He had seen them covered in Roman blood, wielding both a sword and a spear with the skill of one born to do it. But he had also seen them in the sanctuary of their tent, moving with infinite tenderness all over his body. He longed to feel them on him again. When Nasir laughed a second time, Agron felt his heart start to beat faster. If his ears had missed Nasir’s laughter, they had missed his sighs of pleasure even more. There was no sound that Agron loved more than the purr of arousal he could draw from Nasir with a simple lick, or quick bite of his neck. 

Years of wearing a slave collar had made the Syrian’s skin extremely sensitive and Agron knew just how to turn him on with a cleverly placed kiss. Remembering this, he raised his bandaged hand and stroked Nasir’s neck with the back of his fingers. Nasir responded by tilting his head, inviting Agron to caress him again. His eyes fluttered closed and a contented smile played on his lips. He sighed happily when Agron’s fingers began to stray into his hair, and gave a small gasp of pleasure when he suddenly felt the rough scrape of Agron’s beard on his neck. 

Smiling with the knowledge that Nasir was reacting, Agron ran the tip of his tongue up that wonderfully sensitive skin and carefully nipped Nasir’s earlobe with the tip of his teeth. He couldn’t help grinning when he heard the hitch in Nasir’s breath. When he pulled back, Nasir had a smile on his face that made him glow, even in the flickering light of the fire Agron could tell that the Syrian’s cheeks were flushed, and he had a dreamy look of arousal in his eyes. 

The voices and laugher around them faded away, the only thing Agron could see was the smile on his lover’s face, the only thing he could hear was the quickening sound of Nasir’s breath. He watched his eyes close as he leaned in and brought their mouths together in a kiss. Nasir melted into it, his soft lips opening and his tongue finding Agron’s in a passionate dance. Agron felt Nasir’s hand slide up the side of his face, fingers tenderly caressing his cheek. His own hand was tangled in the Syrian’s hair, holding the back of his head, pressing him harder into the kiss. 

A hand tapping on Agron’s shoulder pulled him from the moment and he broke away to find a woman standing in front of him holding a jug of wine. Agron lifted his cup and let her fill it, thanking her with a nod of his head before she stepped in front of Nasir and offered him the same. From the other side of the fire Agron felt eyes on him and turned his head to find Castus staring at him through the flames. The look on his face was unreadable and Agron tried to ignore him, turning back to Nasir who was refusing a refill of wine with a shake of his head. 

“You do not drink?” Agron asked softly. 

“I must keep clear head, I stand guard tonight,” Nasir replied. 

“When do you go?” Agron asked, looking disappointed. “I have need of your loving embrace,” 

Nasir glanced up at the sky to check the position of the moon; his stint on watch was from midnight to dawn. “There is yet a little time if we are quick,” he grinned, starting to get up from his seat.

“Nasir,” Castus called from the other side of the fire. “I would stand guard for you. From where do you look out?” 

“On crest of ridge,” Nasir pointed to the rocky rise above the makeshift arena. “To watch over west side of valley.”

Agron looked at Castus with surprise and received a resigned smile and a shrug in response. He gulped a few mouthfuls of wine and handed the remainder to Nasir. “Finish cup then return to tent,” he said, his lips brushing Nasir’s ear. 

Castus was already up and walking away to fetch his sword before he made his way up the rocky incline to the lookout position. Agron caught up with him on the path to his tent. 

“Gratitude,” he said, placing his hand on Castus’ shoulder. The pirate said nothing, just acknowledged Agron with a nod of his head and walked off. 

Nasir waited a few minutes, drained the rest of the wine then headed back to their tent. The inside was glowing with the golden light of the softly flickering oil lamps that Agron had lit. Extra bedding and pillows had been placed on their bed and Agron stood naked next to it, his arms extended in welcome when Nasir stepped into the tent. 

When he saw Agron waiting for him, unclothed and his arms outstretched, Nasir ran to him, folding himself into the gladiator’s strong embrace. 

“Hands begin to heal, you undress absent aid,” Nasir said, running his fingers down the bare skin of Agron’s sides. 

“It is yet struggle,” Agron admitted as his fumbling fingers started to undo the buckles and ties on Nasir’s armour and clothing. He found himself getting frustrated when his hands wouldn’t move as fast as he wanted them to, but Nasir seemed to enjoy the slow process of being undressed. His arms were wrapped around Agron’s body, his hands sliding up and down his back, from the scars that peppered his shoulder blades to the narrow dip of his hips and downwards to the muscular swell of his behind. Agron murmured with pleasure when Nasir’s hands grabbed the twin globes of his ass, his nails digging in and dragging as he pulled his hands back up. As the protective body armour came away from Nasir’s shoulder he pulled his arm though the straps and watched Agron let it fall to the floor, then he pressed his body back against Agron, relishing the feel of their bare skin together. His nails raked down Agron’s shoulders, his fingers lingering on the German’s nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. His mouth dropped kisses on Agron’s chest, and his tongue licked wet trails across his skin. He felt Agron’s hands glide up and down the bare skin of his back, giving up their attempts to undo his kilt. Agron’s mouth found his neck and Nasir panted with open-mouthed pleasure through an onslaught of kisses and bites while he worked to rid himself of the rest of the his clothes. Finally naked, he kicked off his shoes and sank back into Agron’s embrace for a full-mouthed, tongue-filled kiss. 

Nasir loved kissing; from the first loving touch of Agron’s lips at the Temple near Vesuvius to their later passionately groping encounters, he loved nothing more than the feel of the handsome gladiator’s mouth covering his and their tongues playing together. He had never been kissed before the day Agron had lovingly cupped his face in his hands and given him a soft, tender parting kiss before going to burn the arena at Capua. When he returned unharmed, all Nasir wanted to do was repeat that special moment. 

As a body-slave he had never expected to experience pleasure from a sexual encounter. He was there to do his master’s bidding and all the shuddering pleasure of an orgasm was for his Dominus to enjoy. Nasir’s only duty had been to make it happen. He had never experienced desire, nor enjoyed a climax while performing his duty. He had no idea what it meant to feel attraction or arousal for a man he had intercourse with, nor had he ever known the blissful delight of being pleasured by a man who put Nasir’s enjoyment and satisfaction above his own. That is, until that wonderful day when Agron had stolen his heart at the same time he’d stolen that first kiss. 

After that first tentative meeting of lips Nasir had started to feel things that he had never experienced before. Agron’s glances had made his stomach flutter, their kisses sent flames of arousal rocketing from his lips to his cock. He had been shocked that his body was capable of such a reaction but the feeling was wonderful and he didn’t fight it. Especially when Agron showed that he knew how to make it feel even better. 

When he returned from Capua, his attraction to Nasir was stronger than ever, but he never pushed and never demanded anything of the former slave. He let Nasir set the pace and the boundaries. When they reached a point where Nasir became uncomfortable they stopped, if Nasir declined Agron’s advances, the rebel gladiator accepted his decision with a gentle smile and a tender caress of his face. In the end, the most powerful aphrodisiac to Nasir was the knowledge that he had full control over his body for the first time in his life. He ate when he wanted to, slept when he wanted to and made his own decisions about who touched him and where their hands could wander. It was a powerful feeling to be allowed to think, feel and decide for himself and it made him love Agron all the more. When he finally shared Agron’s bed it was his own choice and it had taken his breath away when Agron insisted that he do nothing but lay back and enjoy himself. He had never dared to dream of the love and care that he felt under Agron’s hands. He had no idea that his body was capable of such ecstasy, nor his heart of so much emotion. When Agron’s cock had finally entered him, the pain and discomfort Nasir felt had only lasted a moment before the most exquisite feeling of bliss had overwhelmed him. He shook and shuddered through their first shared climax, crying out in pleasure all the while being lovingly held in strong arms and kissed by an adoring and devoted mouth. When he came down from the impossible high and his breathing steadied to normal he had opened his eyes to find Agron’s face hovering above his, with such love reflected in his eyes that Nasir had started to weep. Agron had hugged him tightly, rolling them over so that he could cradle Nasir to his chest until the tears had subsided. After that emotionally charged first time Nasir had become insatiable, he couldn’t get enough of Agron’s kisses, or his cock. They couldn’t stand guard without getting tangled in a passionate embrace. When they were sent out hunting they took advantage of the added privacy to sink into each other’s arms, and when it was time to train and hone their sword skills, they watched each other with lustful eyes and lingering gazes filled with promises of the illicit caresses the coming night would bring. 

All these thoughts and memories of the love he had shared with Agron had crowded Nasir’s mind when he thought Agron was gone forever. He had spent so many nights aching for the warm embrace of his lover that now that he had Agron back in his arms, he wanted it to last forever. He was so grateful to Castus for taking his watch for him. He knew it would anger Agron, but he was determined to find a way to thank the Cilician properly for giving him the entire night to revel in the delights of Agron’s bed. 

The kisses they shared now were passionate and lustful, each of their tongues fighting for possession of the other’s mouth. Nasir’s moans vibrated in his throat, becoming more fervent and shameless when Agron sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and tugged on it with gently nipping teeth. He loved it when Agron kissed him like that. And he loved it even more when Agron broke their kiss, as he did now and turned him around in his arms, pressing his chest to Nasir’s back so that he could nip at his shoulders and sink his teeth into the side of Nasir’s neck. His unshaven stubble scratched deliciously as he covered Nasir’s flesh with hungry kisses. Nasir’s head tilted, his eyes rolling back with blissful pleasure. 

“You flutter eyelids like innocent virgin, yet body reacts like wanton whore,” Agron teased him, and nipped lustfully on his shoulder as his bandaged hand slid down Nasir’s and his clumsy fingers tried to close around his straining cock. 

Nasir growled softly and moved his hand down too, closing it over Agron’s and guiding him to stroke his erection. The roughness of the bandages combined with the heated skin of their fingertips made him moan and start to rock his hips against Agron’s pumping fist. 

“You would reach peak like this with fondling hand?” Agron asked, his voice sounding breathy and needy. 

“I would have what pleases you,” Nasir answered in an equally breathless whisper. 

Agron pulled his hand away from Nasir’s shaft and ignored the hiss of displeasure the Syrian made. Turning him back to face him, he cupped his face in his hands, tilting the dark-haired beauty’s head up so that their eyes met.

“I have been too long from your body. I would fuck you,” Agron said, his heart beating so loudly that he was sure Nasir could hear it too. 

The fire of lust in Nasir’s eyes when he heard those words made Agron moan and push him down onto their bed. 

“Hands are yet too damaged for delicate task. I would have you do it,” he said, placing a small vial of oil in Nasir’s hand. “And I would watch you.” 

Nasir opened the vial and grinned. He knew what Agron wanted and he was more than happy to oblige. The gladiator settled himself comfortably on their bed and Nasir shifted around to give him a good view. Then dipped his fingers into the oil, spread his legs and reached down between them. He watched Agron closely, giving him a seductive look and licking his lips lasciviously. Agron’s eyes were glued to Nasir’s fingers as they playfully teased his own entrance for his lover’s entertainment. When he sensed Agron breathing faster and saw him begin to chew on his bottom lip, Nasir carefully pushed a finger into himself. Arching an eyebrow and running his tongue over his lips when Agron glanced up at his face, Nasir inserted a second finger and began moving them around. He pushed them in and pulled them out slowly, enjoying the feeling of his fingers inside him almost as much as he enjoyed watching Agron’s face. Then he slowly began to scissor his fingers, opening and stretching himself, spreading his legs wider so Agron missed nothing of the view. 

“Fuck the gods,” Agron hissed in a voice strained with lust. He was so aroused he didn’t think he could take much more of Nasir’s shamelessly erotic display, but it had been a long time since Nasir had been taken and he wanted his lover properly prepared and stretched before he thrust his throbbing cock into him. 

Nasir pushed a third finger into himself and worked his hand faster. The look on Agron’s face and the abundance of glistening droplets leaking from the tip of his cock told Nasir that the gladiator wouldn’t be able to just sit and spectate for much longer. 

It was usually Agron who prepared Nasir before they had sex, and he was always careful to stretch him more than was necessary. Even when the feisty Syrian protested that it was enough and he couldn’t wait a moment longer to have Agron inside him, Agron would silence him with a kiss and work his fingers for just a little bit longer. From the start of their relationship he had vowed never to hurt Nasir and to take him only when he was properly stretched and ready for it. 

“More,” Agron breathed, his eyes fixed on Nasir’s finger pushing into his most intimate place. But Nasir was too impatient, he wanted to Agron too badly to waste any more time. He was sure he was stretched enough but it had been a long time since he’d had Agron inside him. There might be a little pain, but for Nasir that only added to the pleasure. He poured a little more oil into his hand and spread it over Agron’s erection, eliciting gasps and groans from the German as he slid his hand back and forth. 

“Enough,” Agron suddenly growled and pushed his hand away, gritting his teeth and fighting his body for control. He felt himself pushed backwards into the cushions he had piled onto the bed and felt Nasir’s weight on top of him. Their mouths locked together in a passionate kiss, tongues wrestling and hands moving all over each other. Their bodies pressed together, Nasir moving his hips, rubbing their cocks against each other. Agron moaned into the kiss and thrust his hands into Nasir’s hair, making the smaller man purr as he tugged it gently. 

“I want your cock,” the beautiful Syrian suddenly said pulling away from the kiss breathlessly, his eyes shining with lust. 

Giddy with need, Agron flipped him onto his back, pulled his knees apart and pushed his legs open. The sight of Nasir spread and ready for him was all the encouragement Agron needed, he guided the sensitive head of his cock to his lover’s opening and pushed cautiously against it. He saw Nasir bite down on his lip as he concentrated on making his body relax. After the first flash of pain when Agron’s huge erection pushed through his tight ring of muscle, Nasir felt only the pleasure of being filled. The pressure on the tight walls of his passage felt wonderful and he cried out a thrilling welcome to the man his body has missed for so long. 

Agron pushed slowly and carefully, it was heaven and hell at the same time. He wanted to sink his shaft all the way in but he was determined that Nasir should be comfortable. But Nasir had other ideas. He wrapped his legs around Agron’s hips and used them to pull Agron into him with one quick thrust. Both men cried out at their joyful reunion. They kissed deeply, murmuring words of love, and all the while moving and thrusting together. 

“Apollo himself could not glow as brightly as you do this moment,” Agron whispered as he gazed down in wonder at Nasir’s smiling face. Love was something he hadn’t understood or believed in until the exasperating little body-slave had entered his life. Now he thought his heart would burst with it. 

He angled his hips, thrusting deeper and watching the reaction on Nasir’s face when the head of his cock brushed against that special place deep inside him. Nasir’s eyes widened in delighted surprise as they always did when that pleasure-filled bundle of nerves burst into life. His mouth dropped open and his head arched back into the pillow. Agron knew he’d found the right spot and aimed every thrust at it. The intense heat of Nasir’s insides pressing snugly around his shaft, sending bolts of stimulation through him was almost too much for Agron to bear. His breathing was laboured, his skin shone with a sheen of perspiration and his heart sang with joy when he heard Nasir start to whimper and writhe underneath him. 

“Stroke cock and finish,” Agron growled softly, driving a long, slow thrust into his lover. 

He lifted his hips an inch to give Nasir room to squeeze his fist between their bodies. Two pumps of his hand was all it took. Nasir’s cry of pleasure was long and loud, ending in a sob of ecstasy as his orgasm overwhelmed him and his seed blasted out between them, coating both of their stomachs and chests. Agron’s climax followed immediately after. As Nasir came his body tensed and his intimate muscles clamped down hard around Agron’s cock. It sent him over the edge and he came to a shuddering conclusion, his mouth open in a silent scream and his eyes screwed tightly shut, his essence shooting deep inside his lover.

He collapsed, panting on Nasir’s chest. Underneath him Agron could feel Nasir’s heart racing as fast as his own and he heard his laboured breathing sprinkled with giddy, breathless laughter.

“You find amusement in this?” Agron asked with a teasing smile, lifting himself up on his elbows and gazing down at the strikingly beautiful face of his lover. 

“I find only joy,” Nasir answered with a dreamy, satisfied look in his eyes, and a breathtakingly beautiful smile on his lips. 

Emotion swept over Agron, overwhelming him. He had a sudden, overpowering urge to hold Nasir tightly and never let him go. They clung to each other, Nasir’s legs still wrapped tightly around Agron’s waist and the handsome gladiator’s softening cock still inside him. Nasir loved the crushing weight of Agron’s body on top of him, he felt solid and real, something tangible to grasp and hold on to, not like the ghostly phantoms of Agron that had haunted his dreams these past weeks. 

When Agron lifted his head the movement of his body dislodged his cock and Nasir gave a small moan of disappointment which Agron silenced with a kiss. He rolled them onto their sides, they kissed slowly and spoke soft words of love until Nasir fell into a sated, dreamless sleep. Agron watched him for a while, tracing his finger over the contours of his face the same way he had done on the last night they had been together. He’d never been one to believe much in the whims of the Gods, but laying with Nasir in his arms, their skin still warm and damp from their intimate encounter made Agron re-examine his faith. Just a few days ago, nailed to a cross and dying, he had asked just one thing; to see this exquisite man’s face again, and here he was, snatched from the snapping jaws of death and delivered back into the arms of the man he loved. Perhaps there were some higher powers worth believing in. Agron lifted his eyes to the apex of the tent, imagining he could see the starry sky beyond it. 

“Gratitude for prayers answered,” he whispered to the gods. His words carried into the night as he closed his eyes and settled Nasir’s head into the crook of his neck, burying his nose in the long, dark hair that he loved so much. He fell asleep listening to Nasir’s steady breathing and inhaling the warm, comforting scent of him. 

To be continued…..


End file.
